Bros Before Hoes
by Elerick
Summary: Prequels listed inside, Hunter and Smoker OCs. Weeks after the "Incident" Desmond isn't talking and Frisk is going insane. Before he can get something out of the smoker they find an interesting character next door that sparks jealousy. M for later


Bros Before Hoes

* * *

Smoker x Hunter Ocs

Sequel to Its Only Gay if the Balls Touch and Two is Just as Bad as One. Both are posted here.

Warnings: OCs, reading the prequels is probably required to understand this fic, and slash.

* * *

This took a seriously long time and was constantly halted by school and 3 midterms, the file being corrupted and thankfully recovered at the last minute. Poor little fic has taken a lot and now the first chap is finally up. This time I will be adding a new witch OC which if you want a peek at her there's pictures in my deviantart gallery which is in my profile.

Fuck... Fuck... Fuck...

There he was, sitting there, just SITTING. Like nothing had ever happened. Reading a FUCKING comic book.

There were countless things Frisk hated about his smoker roommate. He hated his greasy hair. He hated his noisy video games that played twenty-four/seven He hated his piles of books he was always tripping over. He hated his damn collage smugness. He hated the obnoxious smoke from his cigarettes and the constant coughing that accompanied them.

And he hated the fact that it had been three weeks since they fucked and the bastard hadn't said a thing about it.

But what he hated the most was that he wanted that bastard so damn bad.

He didn't want HIM, of course, that would be gay, and he wasn't gay, but the sex had been great. It took him long enough to just admit that, and there wasn't exactly much else to choose from and... great sex was great sex.

And damn he wanted him.

Desmond, the smoker, didn't even look up when the hunter came in and slouched against the back if the couch he was lounging in. He let out a sigh and slung his arms over the side, just inches away from the other and he still didn't seem to know he was in the room.

Bastard.

Living with a person you'd screwed was weird, usually he didn't spend this much time with someone... his old friends were never this close. The first few days after the indecent he didn't want to talk about it, then when he thought he might be able to handle it Desmond didn't say anything so he didn't either... then by the second week he had began to get curious about all the silence, if something might wrong or if Desmond was having some deep inner struggle about the whole thing. It was now the third week and he was just fucking horny.

And if he didn't do something about it soon he was going to explode.

But how to go about it? The smoker scanned the comic panels in silence, unaware of the plans that were forming in his roommates head. He probably didn't have much to be concerned with.

One probably couldn't go about this the same way they would with a girl, shame too, he knew how to get what he wanted from them.

What did girls do when they wanted to get in a guy's pants?

He could climb up into the others lap, get himself between him and that damn comic book. Peal off that nasty green jacket lean in close and whisper in his ears that he needed him and... and...

...and that would be the gayest thing in the history of the world.

And he WASN'T FUCKING GAY!

No. NO! He was a MAN!... Zombie... and he would face it like a MAN!

He should grab that damn comic book out of his hands and throw it across the room. He'd force his knee between his legs, push him back against the cushions with his hands and say, no, DEMAND he take his pants off.

And that smart ass would laugh right in his face.

DAMMIT, how the hell was he supposed to DO this? Maybe he should just grab him and scream Why don't you FUCK ME?

It was supposed to be an apocalypses, who would hear?

"Did you here that?"

"What?" the hunter had been too lost in his own planning to hear.

"Sounded like screaming.. from a few houses over maybe... those immune guys usually don't come this far."

"So? Its not like they're over here?" his libido wouldn't let him think about anything else right now.

Desmond gave him that angry look of his, the one that made you feel guilty for being selfish even if you didn't mean it. Like in those commercials about supporting kids in third world countries. How did he do that without saying a word?

"Let's go check it out, someone might be hurt, someone who won't want to shoot us."

He was leaving, that set alarm bells off in the hunter's head. Black claws sank into his plaid jacket as he got up.

"So what? Its... its probably just some brainless zombie!"

"And if its not?"

"If... well... then it's probably just a freak that's going to hang around and mooch off us! Do you want that?"

"I took you in didn't I?"

It wasn't meant to be cruel, the smoker even turned and gave him a small, playful smile, something he did rarely.

He probably didn't realize how much it hurt him.

* * *

The sound had come from the next house over, but with the rows of Billionaire houses with million dollar lawns that lined the streets it took a good walk to get from one to the other. Frisk pouted with his hands in his hoodie. the entire way. Desmond didn't seem to notice.

"Sounds like crying."

Or maybe he just didn't care. Probably just passed it off as just more of his whining.

"Don't go in too fast, who knows what's in there. You'd better stay close Frisk."

Not that he cared, since he was just a burden on the smoker. Some bitchy little kid that he had to PUT UP with.

"Frisk... zombieland to Frisk. "

Should have known he couldn't get a friend like this. All those old bastards just wanted him for his money anyway, now he didn't even have that. He was just a useless little-

"FRISK!"

The hunter jumped, subconsciously sinking his claws into the sleeve of the others grimy green jacket. It was an embarrassing habit he'd developed whenever they left the house and went into the war zone. But when things were clawing and shooting at you its perfectly reasonable to look for some protection. In fact it was totally reasonable! ... though he never figured that ugly ass jacket would end up being a security blanket.

"Chill..." the smoker coxed him like some kid afraid of the monster in its closet. "I just don't want you wandering off and I loose a roommate."

Like he cared. "Whatever."

There was no one on the first floor, no one on the second floor, but with each step there were more and more spots and splatters and a growing metallic sent in the air.

Blood...

By the third floor he was practicably slipping on it. Whoever was hear was either attacked on the way up or failed to escape back down.

Before the infection hit just the sight of blood made Frisk nauseous, but whatever was changing him must have been taking a tole.

The scene was making him hungry

That scared him almost as much as whatever had made the mess which kept getting worse with each step. He really wanted to leave, but he rather end up as a splatter on the wall then look like a pussy in front of Desmond. So he allowed himself to be lead on by that single sleeve, though he might have inched just a bit closer.

The slaughterhouse vibe was enhanced by a loud sobbing echoing off the walls. The hunter's new in-tuned senses vibrated painfully at the sound. The screech of the unused hinges of the attic stairs coming down wasn't much better. It was the last place were they hadn't yet left footprints in the blood soaked floor so whatever it was it had to be up there.

Shit.

A horde of Zombies? Those crazies with guns all pumped on drugs? Spinning metal death? He wasn't sure what he had expected but this wasn't it.

In the center of the room, surrounded by what must have used to be people, sat a girl. Pigtails peeked out from either side of her face which was buried in her charcoal black hands. Her fingers were oddly long. She was thin, she was short, why wasn't she a smear on the ground with everyone else.

Unless...

"Des, do you think she's the one that- "

The hunter stopped, too terrified to continue. Why? Because Desmond looked terrified, Desmond never looked anything, so if he was terrified...

Some serious shit was about to go down.

It was then he noticed that a pair of shining red eyes were focused straight on him, so focused they seemed to be lining up their sites for a missile launch.

Shit!

"DON'T LOOK AT ME!"

The shriek seemed to shake the air. By the time Frisk's eardrums stopped ringing and his eyes stopped rattling in his head he managed to make out the claws that were coming at his face.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

In a split second the image of terror before him suddenly disappeared, he was plummeting downwards and there was a the screech of long forgotten springs and then a loud, painful thud of something smacking into wood. It wasn't until he found himself flying down the house stairs that he realized he was being carried by the smoker. Desmond must have shut the attic stairs right in the girl's face. Not an ineffective tactic, apparently.

They didn't stop until the front door was slammed behind them and the only sounds was that of their own relieved panting. She must not have followed them.

He looked to the smoker, expecting some explanation to it all, but he was trapped in a coughing fit, gasping for air like some asthmatic ten year old.

"You OK man?" he asked before he recalled he was still mad at him.

The older held his free hand up, asking for a minute, the other was balled in front of his mouth. Frisk had seen these coughing spells before but this was worst then usual. Then again the usual was Desmond lounging around playing his damn games while the hunter whined for him to take him out. Maybe this was to much for him.

It took a while but eventually the smoker got his breath back, though it sounded like sandpaper on tin.

"She spoke..."

" What?"

"Dude, she talked!" another hacking fit, "She actually spoke! Words!"

...

" ... we almost got our asses KILLED BACK THERE!"

"I haven't heard anything but grunts and growls from everyone except those ass hats with guns and you! She talked! She's still... well she's not all gone."

"Who CARES! She's INSANE!"

"Dude, we have to help her."

"Help her what? Eat us?"

"If she talks she must think, and she's probably scared. You tried to attack me when I found you." Something about the beaming smile of hope on his face that pissed the hunter off, burned him deep in his stomach. Maybe it was because rarely did he ever see him smile, much less a real one besides that damn smirk. Why was he so damn happy about that bitch up there just because she could talk. He could talk, why the hell did he need her?"

"If you like her so much why don't go up there and marry her!"

"Jeez Frisk, you're time of the month or something?" the smoker rolled his eyes and sighed, like he was dealing with an idiot little brother. "you keep quiet and sulk until you explode like that. I'll pick up some tampons the next time."

"Shut up ASS!" It was always a damn joke with him. "What the fuck do you know!"

"Well I don't know anything do I? Not when you're too busy being emo to tell me.

"Like you give TWO SHITS!"

"Don't yell, she's still-"

"I'M NOT YELLING!" the door shook when he slammed his fist against it. Shut up, shut up, shut up, was all he could think, but he wasn't sure who it was directed at. Desmond had that damn 'I thought we were friends' look on his face that was like someone punched him in the stomach. It felt like he was going to throw up, but instead of vomit it was words that were swelling up at the back of his throat and leaving such a terrible taste. He had no idea what he was going to say but he opened his mouth to heave whatever it was on the concrete steps.

What caught in his ears was a shriek... but it didn't come from him. There was the sudden heavy shuffle inside the house of feet coming down stares disturbingly quickly.

It was that day Frisk learned he ran faster on all four legs then just two.

He ran all the way home, bounded up the stairs and slammed the door to the room he had claimed as his own. Leaning against the wood he waited, standing still as if he were being watched, until he heard the front door shut again.

Damn it, why should he care if he got home safe... he didn't want to see his ugly buldgy face anyway.

The little hunter collapsed on his unmade bed, random titty magazines flopped to the floor, their usually helpful contents of no use to him now. What was he going to say anyway? It was like trying to snatch a dream that he KNEW was important but couldn't for the life of him remember.

"This SUUUUUuuuuuks..." he buried his face in the mattress and allowed his mind to swim in the annoying confusion in his head.

All he had wanted to do was get laid!

* * *

Two more chapters to look forward to.

I'm also thinking of doing another fic from Desmond's pov if you're sick of whiny little Frisk


End file.
